Angel With a Shotgun
by SailorSilvanesti
Summary: Captain America is a dangerous man to steal from... and they stole his heart. Tony has been taken, an impossible chance for rescue... too late. Now these mercenaries are going to learn what it means to lose something precious to them... their LIVES. DARK!Steve Everybody's got a Dark Side. Rated 'M' for violence, this is also Stony. Don't like, don't Read. AU. 1st Avengers Fa


**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, or any associated Characters. Although I would LOVE to live with them...**

**This is potentially an 'M' for violence; don't like, don't read. **

**This goes double for Stony-haters.**

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**Angel With a Shotgun**

**~)0(~**

Arms trembled as they fought to rise despite the multitude of booted feet pushing down upon his neck and back in something similar to smug triumph, like a hunter posing prematurely for a photo with his soon-to-be-kill. Indeed, this was being televised, so perhaps that was exactly what was occurring… but all he could focus on was the memory of a face, and his resolution that this was not how he would go down. This was _not_ how it would end, not here, not now...

Another thought bolstered his desperate musings… what of all those who were watching this battle? Waiting for him to rise and take vengeance? The sheer _million_s of people out there, believing in him? _What about…_

Someone stomped hard upon his spine, the pain was like an all-consuming fire coursing up and down his exhausted body, trailing through the exertion-riddled arms holding him upright. They trembled harder than before, fighting against gravity… before finally giving up the battle. There was nothing left inside to give –_super-soldier serum or not_-, what more could they ask him to do? What else could he sacrifice in the name of duty, of service… of love for his country? He had already lost this battle, and… someone very close to him… too close… Tears burned at eyes caked in a fine layer of dirt, but he shook them angrily away, breathing harshly to clear his head.

However, that thought had sparked something within his core, a white-hot rage that welled up in all-consuming heat, demanding some kind of action on his behalf; acceptance of his fate was not an option here, he was an Avenger, and something demanded avenging.

He would not grovel in the dirt like some helpless creature resigned to its demise. No, that was not the way this would end… An echoing roar rang out from his lips in a resounding cry seemingly bursting straight from the primal, aching pain in his heart that was screaming its outrage that they had killed _him_. His… his… _everything_.

They would pay… with what they cherished most; whether it was by the shield of Captain America, as it drove relentlessly through their flesh, or the avenging fist of Steve Rogers that finally ended their miserable, unworthy lives … they would pay for what they had done.

As if sensing his new resolve, one set of boots pushed off from his body, the thuds of their footfalls in the distance were audible through the wreckage; Steve pushed upwards with renewed vigour and might, knocking the two remaining mercenaries off-balance and one crashed to the floor before he could save himself, unlike his partner who stumbled but straightened. "So, you want to play a little more, then?" came the lilted accent of one, his mind submitted that the man must be either French or Canadian, then again… Steve couldn't really bring himself to care where they were going to bury the bastard…

The one on the ground was shorter, obviously Mexican and had a shocking array of green-dyed hair, he scrambled upright with a sneer, "Heh, at least you'll be more fun than your friend was… once you removed the nightlight, he wasn't so damn cocky, but he made _excellent _Captain America Bai-… URGH!" What was most likely an elegant statement about how his 'friend' had played excellent bait, was prematurely stifled by a large hand closing around his windpipe.

Prompting the second thug to laugh and cock his gun, "I think it would be best if you released Monsieur Mongrel, don't you?" he aimed the weapon menacingly at the Captain's steely expression as the younger mercenary gurgled and turned an unhealthy shade of blue. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve found it ironic that the creature in his grasp was called Mongrel… ah well, at least they knew what to put on the tombstone…

With a slight pivot of the heel, 'Mongrel' was hurled directly at the other man, who fired his weapon instinctively… catching his ally through the thigh and putting the younger man out of commission effectively. He advanced as one gasped for breath, and the other reached for a smaller gun in his belt, kicking the other in his injured leg simultaneously. "Get up…" the man growled, not even looking to see if his directive was followed as Steve came closer, and yet closer still, with a fiery purpose written all over his partially-masked face.

"You took something, _someone_, important from me… and to be honest, I don't really like thieves, or cowards… and especially not torturers and murderers. So here's what we're going to do… Let's play a game. _If_ you can get out of here before I catch you, then you live; if not… well, that's up to you how it goes down." Some part inside that was still the original Steve was quailing at the emotionlessness in the voice, was trembling at the threats he was making without an ounce of falsehood to be found in any of them…

The French mercenary laughed, "Oh yes, the great Captain America who rescues kittens from trees for weeping children is going to kill us… I am soooooooo frightened!" he made a swooning gesture, only to find the gun previously in the grasp of his outstretched hand gone and a frighteningly real grip about the extended limb. "Let's see how you do without this, then…" the hero said disarmingly, holding up the metallic weapon in his free hand, and then he snapped the bones in the man's forearm harshly without further preamble.

The one called Mongrel was turning an awful shade of white, but still he crawled over to the other, "You okay, amigo? Oooh, looks pretty bad, here, let me…" with a vicious twist, the bone protruding slid under flesh as the other screamed, "Oh, that hurts? Well trying having some asshole kick you in the leg you were just shot in! Now we're even, Wraith…"

Watching the exchange, Steve became irritated, it was almost as if… even after all he had done, they didn't see him as a threat… so he took the chance to look around for a few seconds, catch his bearings as it were. Though he had no memory of entering this place, they couldn't be far from where Tony's communicator had gone off... they must still be close to where they were holding him… an abandoned warehouse in New York, ironically owned by Stark Industries too.

The place they were in could only be described as some sort of underground arena, obviously designed by the hand of Doom, given the high level of technological genius shown in the various traps and other things that had tried to kill him as he'd chased the mercenaries blindly down here in a desire for justice to be served. The area was not overly large, like a small football field, given there was no obvious electricity for lighting… it poorly lit by what streamed in from the evening sky. There were also cameras protruding from absolutely everywhere… streaming this live, along with a screen that continuously flickered back to images of… what he had not been able to stop, before he arrived at the warehouse.

A gunshot distracted him from wondering why, even in the face of millions watching him murder these men and renouncing any claim to being Earth or even America's protector he may have had before, couldn't he quiet the rage inside? Why was there no way in which he could stop himself from issuing the ultimatum coming from his mouth, "Run now, or die here boys, it's your call… I'll give you to the count of three."

The one called Wraith leapt to his feet, dragging Mongrel up by the collar as the idiot was pointing a gun at the man threatening to murder them both, "Run you idiot, drop it and run!" and he turned without further ado to do just that, arm uselessly flailing as the other tried to compensate. Mongrel paused, shot at the Captain once more, grazing the chiselled cheek… then glanced at the weapon in horror, dropped it and hobbled along after his accomplice.

Given the situation, Steve generously counted instead to five, before taking off after the pair who were slowly attempting to disappear into the protective darkness offered by the entrance tunnel to –what he could only guess- was either to the subway or sewers. He readied his shield, having used the distraction to pick it up out of the rubble, left over after their earlier battle. Something stung his chest, he resisted looking down; probably a broken rib or two after that humiliating pounding he'd taken from the meta-human hired as the fourth of this group… speaking of which, when had that one disappeared?

No matter. With an almighty wrenching, he threw the shield like a deadly discuss into the darkness before him, only just running into sight of the two men as it collided with them… with agonised cries and a momentary choking noise, the two were rent into uneven halves that fell slowly to the ground with sick, wet plops. Strangely clam, and without a trace of horror, the Captain picked up his blood-slickened shield and slid it back upon his arm; glancing around to see if he could perhaps find a trace of the other two assailants…

There came a strange clicking noise, almost as if someone was… -_uh_, he grunted, stepping back a pace or two- …cocking a gun to fire… well, that was an utter failure in regards to super-hearing, he thought as his chest went numb.

The third mercenary was a wiry creature, all angles; at first glance they appeared to be a teenaged Caucasian male with a multitude of tattoos covering the majority of their arms… hardly likely to fade into a crowd unless some sort of Rock Concert was occurring each time they tried to make a clean getaway. However, as he drew closer, his assumption proved to be faulty… the third was female, that was a surprise… but the four had been wearing masks in the ransom video, he supposed…

Number Three stood out in the open, like they thought he would be conflicted over what he was about to do next. True, he didn't hit girls if he could help it… but on the other hand, it didn't look like a girl, and she had just shot him; that warranted a good old fashioned spanking. And what she'd done to Tony? Let's say a really GOOD spanking…

She fought like a hellcat as he pinned her to a nearby wall, clawing at him… in fact, the tattoo down her left arm read 'Wildcat'… he smiled coldly, "So, '_Wildcat_', is it?" she stiffened, there was no fear in her eyes as she stared at him; an intellect was at work, trying to figure a way out of his grasp… another gunshot. Okay, _that one_ he felt… it stung like a small insect bite, and slowly grew throughout his abdomen… Wildcat smirked, Steve didn't. "Bad move, girlie…"

With that, he jerked her forwards by the throat and slammed her back into the solid concrete wall of the arena; she gurgled, perhaps a lung was pierced? Who cared…

Unfortunately, some part of him did. Despite what they had done to Tony, he couldn't leave her like this…it was too cruel. In a movement, her neck had been snapped and the body slumped to the ground; his imagination supplied the horrified gasps of those watching still… but he couldn't care less. Given the amount of blood running down his front, it indicated he may have been shot more than once… how had he not noticed?

The world was flickering now, no… maybe it was the lighting. _What lighting?_ Some part of his conscious mind asked, oh right… hole in the ground… no electricity. Right. What did it matter anymore? Steve exhaled slowly as his knees struck the concrete below, heartbeat strangely loud in his ears as the searing fire from his abdomen and ribcage spread to every nerve ending he possessed.

Dully, he processed that something large had landed somewhere in the vicinity… the floor shook as he tilted to look that way, only to be flattened by a fist to the face. "So, you took out the others, eh? I probably shouldn't have left the party so early, but it looks like I get the bonus prize… getting to kill Fury's precious Captain America while the world watches." Sneered an elephant-esque man in what could only be described as an ill-fitting catsuit; if this man didn't kill him right now, his fashion sense might just do it…

Flat on his back, Steve couldn't even find the energy to rise or fight back as a large hand clamped around his throat and yanked him upright, the other arm extended back so the punch that was coming would have a greater, far more lethal momentum built up by the time it reached his skull.

"Any last words, pretty boy?" sneered the meta, the final member of the mercenary group he had forgotten all about in his enraged state… By God, he was so _stupid_, he cursed internally, so downright idiotic it was a wonder that Tony lov-…_had_ ever loved him…

"None that I can say with a few million ladies present…" he spat, going out with bravado, like any good soldier should. The sneer twisted wider, not really helping to beautify the man's face any, "Didn't think so…" and his fist swung back, muscles tensing…

"Well I have some choice ones… st-starting with… '_D-do those outfits come in… in Men's sizes_?' and ending with, '_Get the F-F-__**FUCK**__ away f-f-rom my …m-man_!'" wheezed an angry voice, before a gunshot rang out with a deafening crack. The man shuddered an instant, then tumbled to the ground, blood spurting from the hole in his neck he was desperately attempting to clamp with bare hands… not that Steve particularily cared.

He only had eyes for his rescuer…

With the last ounces of his strength, he crawled towards the figure of Tony Stark, standing only metres away… bloody, his business suit torn and the signs of torture evident, but alive; for now… although the Arc reactor hanging out of his chest on a thin thread was worrying. "Hey," Tony gasped as he collapsed to his knees beside Steve's crawling form, "…you… alright?"

Steve wanted to laugh, "M-me? _**You**_ –bleeding everywhere and half-dead- _are asking __**me**_**,** of all people, if I am okay? I will never understand you, Tony Stark…"

There was a faint gurgle as the last mercenary died, his last word sounding like a particularly rude curse.

Blue eyes took on a pained quality, "I…I thought you were dead…" he whispered, remembering the lack of pulse under his questing fingers when they found the genius, bound and trussed to a chair in some dank backroom of the warehouse. Clint had tried to stop him from going in first, but Thor had intervened on Steve's behalf –by that, he meant '_lifted the archer over his shoulder and walked off_'- and Captain America had come upon a scene of horror. His questing fingers had found no heartbeat under the too-pale skin of his boyfriend; then the ambush had been sprung… and life became a whirlwind of fending off blows, running and overwhelming hatred, with little time for thought.

"Ye-yeah, I kind of was… b-but Hawkeye sn-snapped the reactor back in… then again it was more likely the slap he gave me that did… did it. Snuck… snuck away when he was f-fighting a Doombot… god, it's h-hard to breathe…must be m-my proximity to you," Tony was wheezing but still going for 'King of the Cheesy Pick-Up Lines', "Th-this is why I wan…t Pepper to let me w-wear the suit everywhere… _oh I am so glad you aren't dead, Captain Uncomfortably-Tightpants_!"

"S-since when were you complaining about my out- outfit?" he responded automatically, not even realising there were helicopters and shouts coming closer, "Seriously Tony, I-… when I thought you were dead I…" he paused for a few shallow breaths, "I lost it... people died, at my h-hand… don't ever almost-die again." The playboy billionaire let out a bark of hoarse laughter that ended in a wince, "Hah-…ow! Shut up and kiss me, you id-idiot, before I pass out…"

The ominous swish of Fury's coat echoed as the man appeared, "Or you could hold that thought until we've stopped you bleeding to death, gentlemen. Stark, I said stop it… Rogers," he waited a few seconds as medical personnel swept into the tunnel, accompanied by the other Avengers –thankfully minus the Hulk- whose expressions ranged from professional stoic calm to utter horror. "If you two are done… I should mention this whole incident has been a pain in my ass, but Rogers, we managed to convince the public you were under a foreign influence and re-routed the majority of the footage through SHIELD before it hit the public… so don't try that shit again! Takes far too much paperwork… Stark, you are not to go out and get drunk in foreign pubs any longer… without Rogers, got it?"

Turning on his heel, Fury strode out, taking with him all the remaining Avengers except for Hawkeye and Black Widow, both of whom set about clearing the bodies and setting detonation charges about the arena as medical staff secured the pair to gurneys, staunching bleeding and loudly arguing over how to reattach the arc reactor. As Bruce Banner calmly strode over to intervene, Steve turned his head, already feeling his head growing fuzzy from the painkillers, and smiled at Tony… who was doing the same.

"Hey… hey, you're cute, wanna go out f-for a drink in a for-foreign bar?" he smiled lopsidedly, attempting to bat his eyelashes and succeeding in a slow form of Morse code thanks to the morphine slowing his reaction time. Steve laughed, as best he could, and was admonished by a paramedic… "Su-sure… only if you promise to never scare me like that again! Don't ever die Tony… if this is what I become whe- when I think you have di-died… I think the world will be in trouble if you really do next time…"

Tony's gurney started to move, and Steve's followed, "H-how much tr-trouble can an octogenarian super-soldier ca- cause? What ya' gonna do… hit 'em with your walking fr-frame?" smirked the genius, looking back at his boyfriend. "Ye-yeah, I like that plan…" he smiled back.

For a second, Tony giggled, "If I do… b-before then, though… and I don't t-take the elevator st-straight down… I promise to be the angel on your shoulder… savin' your sexy butt al-all the time…" attempting to make a Scout's Honour hand sign was completely beyond someone as drugged as he was in that instant… although hilarious to only himself.

The movement stopped, both gurneys side by side as straps were being lowered to lift them out of the subterranean arena; their hands clasped. Steve's eyes caught onto Tony's, and he smiled, "Yo- you already saved me, 'member? When the guy was… trying to kill me… you're al-already my angel…" he yawned gently, but his ribs twinged anyway. A hand squeezed his briefly, and then Captain America let the world fade as he breathed, "_My angel with a shotgun_…"

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**~*The End*~**

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I'm not sure if you can tell, with all the subtlty I had going there, but I was using,** "Angel with a Shotgun" **by The Cab, as an inspiration for this fanfic.

I doubt I've ever written something quite that violently loving before.

Long story short, this is my first Avengers fanfic, there is another that this actually stemmed from by accident -don't you hate writing a fanfic, then having another idea?- but I think I like it. I like Stony, ThunderHawk, IronFrost, IronHawk, FrostHawk or is it Frosteye? Either way, I pretty much pair Tony & Clint with EVERYONE. Thanks to Tumblr.

**I hope you liked it, please REVIEW if you did.**

**~SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**


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